


From Switzerland, With Love

by TheArtStudentYouHate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, James Bond References, Kidnapping, M/M, Mouthy Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 06:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13335489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtStudentYouHate/pseuds/TheArtStudentYouHate
Summary: When Greg agreed to help Mycroft with this mission he was hoping for something more cunning and debonair. Instead, they're stuck in a basement.





	From Switzerland, With Love

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a bit of a whim. I hope you enjoy. Much thanks to Freebirdflying and Janto321 for reading this over.

“I cannot believe I agreed to help you with this bloody mission. I thought it would be a bit more Bond. Instead I’m stuck in some bloody basement handcuffed to you in the dreariest part of Switzerland I’ve ever seen. I didn’t even get a watch that blows anything up.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes at the latest complaint from the detective inspector and heaved a great sigh. 

“And why, pray tell, would you need a watch that ‘blows anything up?’”

“Well, we wouldn’t be in this mess, that’s for sure.” Greg swore he could feel the waves of frustration coming off of Mycroft, though he couldn’t see him. Instead he was stuck staring at a KISS poster and a rubbish bin, overflowing with pizza boxes and what appeared to be used tissues.

“I can assure you that any explosions would have compromised this mission. There’s absolutely no need for any explosions.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, My…”

“Codenames.”

Now it was Greg rolling his eyes. “Antarctica,” said sarcastically, “but the mission has been compromised. We’re in a fucking basement.”

“As long as the asset hasn’t been been delayed or killed, the mission will go on. This is just a minor set back on our part.” 

“Minor? We’re. In. A. Fucking. Basement! I’m in handcuffs and not in a sexy way and I swear to God, if I have to stare at this wall for much longer, I’m gonna burn a hole through it.”

“Well, count yourself lucky that you’re not stuck staring at some tawdry… photography.” Mycroft glared at the bare, busty, blonde woman who had been photoshopped to high heaven. He felt Greg turn his head.

“Whew,” he whistled. “Well. That accounts for the tissues in the rubbish on my wall.”

Mycroft gagged slightly. 

“Why did I agree to this again?”

“I needed a trustworthy security officer to oversee that the drop off would go well.”

“I’m not a babysitter, My… Antarctica.”

“No. But you are trustworthy and know the ins and outs of what this job would require.” Mycroft didn’t mention that he had hoped this would be a good opportunity to become better acquainted with the Detective Inspector. Meetings talking about Sherlock could only lead to so much. Usually, just talking about about Sherlock. “I also believe that I promised you a two week, paid vacation anywhere in the world if you agreed to help.”

“Ah. Yeah. That makes more sense.” Greg remembered that he was going to see what it would take to convince Mycroft to join him on that vacation to… get to know him better. “Well, you better make it three weeks and you can cross Switzerland the hell off that list. I don’t think I’ll ever even want another Toblerone after this is over.”

“Hello, Gentlemen.”

They both looked over at the now opened door.

“You must be joking.” Mycroft desperately wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. 

“Wait. Back up. This is the guy we came all the way to Switzerland to capture? Tell me this is a prank. There’s no fucking way in hell some acne prone, hairy-palmed kid is the one who forced us to come all the way over here only to be captured and held in his Mum’s basement.”

“I moved out six months ago, I’ll thank you very much.” The young man looked terribly offended.

“Well, bully for you,” Greg responded. 

“Get the hell out of the way, Davide.” A handsome man in a tailored suit barged into the room, pushing the younger man towards the chair. “Gentlemen.” He smiled at the two of them. “I am the one you came all the way over here to meet. Although, Davide here did help. His room just happens to be isolated enough for me not to worry about you knowing where you are.”

“Isolated is one way to put it.” Greg stared the man down. “Hermit-like is another.”

“Yes, well, one puts up with what one must in order to achieve their goals.”

“And what exactly are your goals now that you have us? I don’t think we’re entirely necessary to your endgame,” Mycroft drolled.

“No. But you were getting in my way. And now that I have you…”

“I’ll warn you right now I’m not afraid to bite you in places that’ll hurt and you better not even think of laying a fucking finger on Mycroft or my boot’s gonna be so far up your arse you’ll taste leather.”

Mycroft had to concentrate very hard to keep a neutral expression on his face.

“So protective. Must be nice to have a watchdog… Mycroft, was it?” The man smirked at the two of them.

“Shit. Fuck. Sorry, Mycroft.” Greg looked sheepishly at the ground.

“Quite alright… silver fox.” Mycroft ground out.

Greg was glad Mycroft couldn’t see the smile he cracked. He’d fought for that codename. It was Anthea who’d finally gone behind Mycroft’s back and made it official. 

“And would we have the pleasure of your name, now that you have mine?” Mycroft gave the man a tight lipped smile.

“I suppose it wouldn’t do any harm. Christian Ott, at your service.”

“You do your first name quite the disservice,” said Greg.

“So do most of the people claiming to be Christians. I was just given the name. But, back to my original point. Now that I have you here, I’m sure your British government is very much wanting to have you back and would probably pay quite handsomely to see that done.”

“Oooo ransoms. Now this is a bit more Bond. Have any cool gadgets? Planning on killing us with a laser while you’re not in the room?” Greg asked hopefully.

“Do you honestly expect Davide here to have any lasers?” 

“Well actu…”

Christian put his hand up, interrupting Greg. “Please don’t answer that. Well, Davide? Do you have any information on our guests here?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, well the mouthy one there is named Greg Lestrade and is a detective inspector. The other one though, I can’t find any information on him at all. Not even a last name.”

“Well, you  _ must _ be important than.” He gave Mycroft a shark-like smile. “A James Bond character, perhaps?”

“Do you expect me to talk, Mr. Ott?” Mycroft smiled back.

Christian chuckled, “You are a funny one, Mycroft. Maybe even more so than your pet over here.” He ran his hand through Greg’s hair and Mycroft felt Greg’s back vibrate as he growled.

Mycroft stopped smiling. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Why is that? You don’t like people touching your things? Well, here is a lesson for you, Mycroft,” Christian pulled a gun from his inside pocket and aimed it at Mycroft’s head, “the man with gun gets to do what he wants.”

“That’s it, fuck this!” Greg kicked his leg behind him, catching Christian’s ankle and pulling back, causing him to fall to the floor. Greg then forced himself and Mycroft to tip their chairs sideways, falling onto Christian. The gun skittered across the floor where Davide quickly picked it up and aimed it at them. He was obviously not used to holding a gun, but at this distance it would be hard to miss.

“Shit. I forgot he was in the room,” Greg cursed. “I didn’t think this far ahead.”

“Thank goodness I did.” All eyes turned towards the opened doorway that Anthea stood in, not heard in the previous ruckus. From behind her charged a large group of special agents, quickly sweeping in and disarming Davide and helping Mycroft and Greg off of Christian. 

“Ah. Our very own Deus ex Machina,” Mycroft smiled at Anthea as the handcuffs were finally undone. He proceeded to flex his fingers and rub his wrists.

“And don’t you forget it.” She rolled her eyes as they all overheard Davide asking why she couldn’t be the one arresting him. “I’ll have this mess cleared up shortly, sir. The rest of the mission went to plan.” She turned and began giving orders to the agents.

Mycroft turned towards Greg, looking at the ground as he asked, “so, Detective Inspector, have you thought about where you would like to travel for your holidays?”

Greg smiled. “Don’t know. Anywhere you suggest?”

“The Amalfi Coast is always lovely this time of year. Or perhaps you’d prefer something more in the line of Bora Bora.”   
“Didn’t know you fancied travelling to warmer climates. Always figured you for more of a rainy day in Paris sort of bloke.”

“Oh, I am. I just thought you would appreciate a warmer locale.” Mycroft didn’t mention that Greg looked dashing sporting a tan such as he did when Mycroft had to ask him to help his brother in Baskerville.

“Well that’s very considerate of you, Mycroft, but I do also enjoy rainy days in Paris.” Greg’s smile grew as Mycroft still refused to meet his eyes.

“Do you?”

“Oui. Tout à fait.” That caught Mycroft’s attention. “Although it has been quite awhile since I’ve been. I’d probably need somebody to show me around. I’d hate to get lost.” Now the two of them couldn’t tear their gaze from each other.

“It’s been some time since I played tourist, but I still know of some exceptional restaurants and shops there.” Mycroft could feel his cheeks flushing.

“Well it’s settled then. You, me, and a rainy three weeks in Paris. Will you have any trouble arranging the weather forecast at all, Mycroft?” Greg grinned. Mycroft smiled back.

“None at all, Gregory. None at all.”

  
  



End file.
